


Water Me

by IAmTheMonster



Category: The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone, Angst, Daryl Needs To Use His Words, Eventual Fluff, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injury Recovery, M/M, Major Spoilers, Minor Rick Grimes/Michonne, Oblivious Rick, POV Daryl, Past Child Abuse, Peter Anderson, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, sort of a slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-16 03:46:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3473243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmTheMonster/pseuds/IAmTheMonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl has trouble adjusting to the group's new home. </p><p>Very loosely based off this tumblr post: http://fuckyeahrickyl.tumblr.com/post/112476853763/can-i-just-pretend-daryl-is-so-annoyed-because</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the tags as they all occur in one chapter or another. MAJOR SPOILERS beyond this point in regards to the TV series. If you are not caught up on the latest episode (512: Remember), you will have things spoiled for you if you read further. Don't say I didn't warn you. Seriously, do not read any further. 
> 
> This work will probably be five chapters (since I already have two and a half written). That's what I'm aiming for. However, if I get enough requests to continue it on since I will be leaving it open to continuation, I will definitely consider it. 
> 
> Title was taken from the song "Water Me" by FKA Twigs, although the song doesn't really relate directly to the fic.

Rick took the job. He took the fucking job. He wanted to stay and Daryl’s world was breaking piece by piece. How long would it be before they went back to being the sheriff and the redneck? How long did he have before Rick couldn’t remember why he was keeping Daryl around in the first place? They didn’t need a tracker, didn’t need a hunter. They didn’t need him. 

He was selfish, fucking selfish for wanting them to be back out there. Out there, where he was necessary, where he was _needed_. Because here, he wasn’t and someday— maybe today or the next or the day after— everyone would realized that. Sheriff Rick would realize that he’d made a mistake keeping some redneck bastard around for so long. 

“She says it still matters.” Rick had told them all as they sat around in the living room of one of the houses they were just _giving away_. Once upon a time, Daryl would have killed for a free house. 

All eyes were on Rick, except for his. He kept his gaze downcast, focusing on the corner of his blanket as though it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. 

“What we did before matters, so make sure you share any talents, any skills that could lend themselves to the community,” Rick was saying and Daryl wondered if anyone needed to know how to start a brawl in a bar or make moonshine or skin a rattlesnake. Somehow he doubted that Rick was talking to him, but he was talking to everyone around him. Everyone except him. 

“The closer we can get, the better handle we’ve got on this place if it all falls apart.” The burn in his hand stung as he dug his dirty nail into the scab, ripping up the edge so blood welled in the circular mark. 

“I’ve met a lot of the neighbors.” That was Carol’s voice now and he heard her shift on the couch. He knew what she was doing. Getting close to them to find out what the community was all about. That’s what they should be doing, those that could. He’d open his mouth and they’d know he was only redneck trash. 

“They’re good people here, Dad.” Carl this time. “If they wanted to hurt us, they would have done it before we split into the two houses.” The kid had a point and he could practically see Rick’s expression without looking up from the blanket. Brows furrowed, mouth set in a hard line. He still pictured him with the beard, had almost forgotten what he looked like without it. 

“I don’t trust Deanna’s son.” Glenn, followed quickly by Tara. 

“Yeah, they were doing some shady shit out there.” Well, she would know about shady. After all, she’d been riding with the Governor before them.

“Just keep your heads down. Mingle.” Rick again. Blood dripped onto his blanket, trickling down the side of his hand, and he shoved himself to his feet, heading for the door. This conversation wasn’t meant for him anyway. He could hear Carol saying something as he slammed the door behind him, taking the porch steps in a single leap and heading somewhere. Away. _Out_. 

He didn’t stop until he reached that solid outer wall that kept everything out. Kept him in. He raised his hand to the wall, fingers dragging against the solid metal paneling. He probably wouldn’t do a damn thing if he punched it, just break his hand. Slumping down against the structure, he pressed his head into his hands for a moment before rummaging around in his pockets. Pulling out an old cigarette, he lit the end, taking a long drag. The sensation didn’t relax him at all. Smokes had lost that power a long time ago, probably around the time dead people started reanimating. 

He inhaled again as he stared down at the scab on his hand, bleeding freely now. He wondered if this was how _she_ felt. Useless. Weak. Expendable. They’d all just seen a silly blonde girl who had survived by sheer luck, just like they all saw a feral beast trying to play house. They’d been wrong about her. He doubted they were wrong about him. 

He let the cigarette burn down low, almost to the filter before he pressed it into his hand, right next to the first mark. It barely hurt anymore. Was that all she felt when she slid that piece of glass over her wrist? Was that all she felt when Dawn put a bullet in her brain? He’d never before contemplated how death felt. It probably hurt like a bitch. 

The sun was streaking the gray sky with red by the time he rose to his feet again and he walked the wall, just kept walking. He stopped and checked every section, inspecting the metal for weakness, making sure there was no way in hell that anything could get in. Of course, the wall was impenetrable, but he just kept going until the sun was well on its way across the sky. He had no plans of stopping, until Carol approached him. 

Shifting his crossbow on his shoulder, he paused, half turning towards her to take in whatever ridiculous outfit she was in today, before thinking better of it and focusing his attention back to the fence. 

“I don’t think the wall’s going anywhere, Pookie.” He snorted at the nickname, tapping the metal with his knuckles in some attempt to look like he was doing something useful. 

“Daryl.” He wasn’t going to look at her. He wasn’t going to fucking do it, not when he knew she was going to try and convince him that “blending in” was the best course of action. “Come on. We’ll go get some food and then you can shower off while no one’s at the house.” 

He felt her step closer before her hand brushed against his shoulder. Shrugging her off, he shook his head. “No. I’m gonna go out. Do some hunting,” he replied, starting towards the front gate. “Be back later.” He didn’t look over his shoulder but he knew she wouldn’t follow him. After all, they had appearances to keep up. 

He stayed within earshot of the camp, just in case. After some debate with himself, he’d set a few traps in the woods. At least it would give him something to do in the days to come. There was a small cabin nearby and he moved to investigate that, setting a small fire in the yard to cook the squirrel he’d caught. It wasn’t much, but it was better than eating inside those walls. This was normal. 

He took his time with the meal, although there wasn’t exactly much to savor, and before he knew it, his fire had dwindled out. Rising, he buried the carcass and smoked a cigarette as he kicked some dirty over the ashes. Maybe it’d be better like this. Putting some distance between himself and the others. They sure as hell wouldn’t mind. They’d blend in better without him stirring up trouble. Glenn punched that lady’s son in the face and somehow he was still an accepted member of the society. He showed any aggression and that bitch stared at him, judged him. He could see doubt etched in every line that ran across her face. He pressed another mark into his hand. It still didn’t hurt. 

But seeing Rick with Michonne. That hurt. They didn’t see him as he slipped through the front gate. They were too caught up in their own conversation where a smile spread across her face and Rick’s hand pressed to her elbow. Rick’s eyes almost met his and he paused because, if Rick needed him, he would be there in a heartbeat, but the gaze crossed over him and Daryl followed the line of sight to a blond woman who was smiling and waving the newly appointed “cops” over to her. He’d never wanted to be outside with the walkers more in his life. At least, out there, he knew his place. 

He waited until everyone was asleep before slipping out onto the porch. He dozed for a bit and was gone, walking the fence, before anyone inside the house stirred and before the sun fully rose on the horizon. Again, Carol approached him in the late morning. Again, he brushed her off. 

“You’ve got to make an effort. They can see you’re not trying,” she said. He didn’t see the problem. As long as he kept out of everyone’s way, what did it matter? They hadn’t given him a job. 

He watched Rick feed Judith at lunchtime. He asked if Daryl had done any exploring and he’d muttered something noncommittal. Before Rick could question him further, Michonne had motioned to him and he’d been gone. He decided to stay in the living room, just in case Rick came back needing his help. 

He didn’t and Daryl guessed he should have known better so he went out and walked the wall until the sun went down. He smoked a cigarette and wondered if Beth was happy up in heaven with Hershel. That was the only good thing to come out of her death. She and her daddy got to be together again. 

He’d expected to find the porch empty when he returned, but instead Rick was there, leaning up against the railing in his uniform. Daryl hesitated at the stairs before slowly approaching the other man. “Can’t sleep?” he asked, mirroring Rick as he rested his hip against the railing. 

The sheriff shook his head. “Just making sure you came back,” he replied. “Almost went out looking for you.”

Daryl reminded himself that Rick would do that for any member of the group and now, not just their group, but he had to do that for this whole community. He hummed low in acknowledgment, slowly slipping his crossbow off his shoulder and setting it on the ground next to him. 

“You coming in?” The question caught Daryl off guard and he finally raised his eyes to Rick’s. Of course, he regretted the decision because he felt small under the other man’s gaze. His eyes darted away as he shook his head. 

“’S okay.” It wasn’t really an answer, but he kept his eyes focused on the wood of the porch, praying that Rick had better things to do than question him about his unusual sleeping arrangements. 

“Hey. You alright?” 

The hand clamped down heavy on his shoulder and he could practically feel those blue eyes on him, studying him. 

He could tell him everything. He could admit that this place wasn’t for him, that he wasn’t like everyone else. He hadn’t ever had a home like this and he didn’t fit like the rest of them did. He could tell Rick that he thought he should leave. He could ask Rick if he agreed. They could all stop dancing around the inevitable and just get it all out there, but he couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing Rick. He wouldn’t be selfish and ruin this for the rest of the group. As much as he had his apprehensions, they were all safer here, at least for now. 

“‘Course,” he said with a nod as he felt Rick’s fingers slip from his shoulder, leaving him strangely cold. He forced those thoughts away. He couldn’t think about that, not now. He couldn’t think about how easy it was to let Rick touch him. “That couch is too damn soft. Not used to it,” he heard himself say and, from the exhale of breath next to him, he assumed Rick had relaxed at the comment. 

“Well, come inside soon. There’s a can of soup for you and you should get some sleep. I think Deanna wanted to talk to you in the morning.” He froze at those words. Any tension that had left his body at Rick’s touch came rushing back tenfold. He nodded his head, ignoring every instinct that told him to get out of here, no matter what. “You can shower in the morning.” He nodded rapidly again, anything to end this conversation. 

“I’ll take you over there in the morning, just to be safe,” Rick said and Daryl was starting to wonder who exactly he felt he needed to keep safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've put the spoiler-ish notes here on the first chapter just to avoid accidentally ruining anything for those who ignored the tags. Anyway, I had a lot of feels watching "Remember" and wanted to do a Rickyl take on why Daryl seems so erratic and apprehensive in Alexandria, plus I've been dying to write Rickyl for a while.
> 
> As always, comments are very much appreciated as this is my first time writing this pairing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this and the first chapter one right after the other because I'm obsessing over getting my ideas down before I forget them so I apologize if there's any errors. Sorry there is not much of Rick in this chapter. I know, there wasn't much in the first chapter either, but we're getting there, I swear.

Rick had lied the night before, but Daryl supposed they were square since he hadn’t showered like he said it would. It hadn’t just been Rick, like he’d promised. It’d been him and Michonne who had walked with Daryl to Deanna’s office. He stayed quiet while they had discussed whatever duties they had, something about a guy named Peter. 

Daryl kept himself focused on other sounds, children shouting, birds chirping. It was like something out of a fucking fairytale here. Halfway down the street, he caved and offered his help. “Anything I can do?” he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“No. That’s alright, Daryl. You just relax,” came the reply and he nodded, keeping his eyes on the ground. 

He didn’t try to say anything else, just focused on the pavement underneath the worn soles of his boots. He thought he heard Rick say they’d wait for him, but part of him thought it was his own imagination, a whisper of some fevered dream where the two of them were equal and cared equally. 

“Morning, Mr. Dixon,” Deanna greeted with a wide smile. At the absence of his reply, she led the way back to her office and he stood, again, behind the table, eyes flickering to the video camera. 

“Again, you’re welcome to sit,” she offered, motioning to the chair opposite hers. Another moment of silence as he paced the space in front of her aimlessly. 

“You didn’t find the amenities suitable?” she asked as he trailed grimy fingers over the spines of the books on the bookshelf. He probably couldn’t read any of them even if he tried, but it gave him something to do other than answer her questions. “The shower and the-”

“I know what amenities means. I ain’t stupid,” he cut her off, glancing towards the window in some hope that he could see anyone out there that he knew. Maybe the sight of Rick or Carol would be enough to calm the nervous energy coursing through his veins. He wished he didn’t feel so damn alone, but maybe that was what he was. All alone. He couldn’t even imagine how Beth had felt, not knowing where any of them were, if they were dead or alive. 

“Mr. Dixon?” 

His eyes snapped back to the older woman, searching her face for any hint of what she was asking him. 

“I asked if you wouldn’t mind a few more questions so we can find a viable position for you here,” Deanna repeated and he wanted to ask her why she was trying so hard when they both knew what was going to happen. Instead, he shrugged his shoulders, turning his attention back to the bookcase. 

“Alright. What did you do before all of this?” 

He should have known that that would be the question, after what Rick had said the other night. She hadn’t asked him that before and maybe she had just been waiting for this opportunity to slip it into the conversation. Now, he didn’t know what to say. He could lie, like Carol. He could tell her something useful. 

“Mechanic,” he grunted out, keeping his eyes focused on the books because he didn’t dare look at her while he lied. He needed her to believe him. There was a long pause and he even dared a glance in her direction but she hadn’t shifted at all, was just staring at him. 

“Daryl, I’m trying to create a safe environment here. We believe in transparency, in honesty. Otherwise, we’re unable to create that feeling of community,” she replied, smiling that same, unfaltering smile. “What did you do before?” 

He could almost hear something snap in him. Some restraint that had been holding him back, keeping him quiet and compliant. It disappeared when she used that patient, mockingly kind tone. Maybe he was tired of being ashamed. Maybe he just wanted this all to be over. He wanted Deanna to know what he was. He wanted to confirm all of her suspicions and see what the hell she would do to him. He wasn’t afraid to be alone. 

“You wanna know what I did?” he asked, whirling back to her and he was pleased to see her flinch at his raised tone. “I didn’t _do_ anything! I wasn’t anything! I didn’t-”

The door was flung open and Aiden strode into the room, eyes blazing with anger, and Rick trailing right behind him. 

“Get that son of a bitch out of here!” It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was talking about Daryl, even before he thrust an accusing finger in the archer’s direction. 

“Aiden!” The aghast reaction of his mother was hardly heard over his heavy footsteps as he stormed towards Daryl. “What are you-”

“He set some traps out there in the woods. Nicholas stepped on one when we were trying to get away from a group of roamers. They damn near got him because of this asshole!” The other male lunged at Daryl, grabbing him by the front of his shirt.

With an angry snarl, Daryl raised his fists, ready to strike, but suddenly Rick was there, wrestling the two of them apart. As soon as Aiden’s grip left his collar, Daryl surged forward with every intention of laying the younger man out but Rick’s hands flew out, restraining him. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Daryl!” the sheriff exclaimed. Michonne was there now too, dashing in the door and getting in front of Aiden so the man couldn’t continue his charge. “Come on. _Come on_. You don’t wanna do this.” 

That was where Rick was wrong because no, Daryl really, really wanted to do this. All the tension that had been building up the past couple of days was going to find its release right here and right now. He attempted to rush forward again but Rick was there, blocking him with a hand on either shoulder. 

“Get outta the way!” he snarled. “This little prick wants some.” 

“Daryl!” This time Rick’s voice was harsh enough to force Daryl to pause, meeting his gaze. He could see something in his eyes. Anger, disappointment, and something else he couldn’t be sure of. Whatever it was, it made him feel sick to his stomach because this was exactly what he’d tried so hard to avoid. He’d tried to make this work, but he’d always known, deep down, it couldn’t. _Ain’t nothing sadder than an outdoor cat thinks he’s an indoor cat_. He was only fooling himself. 

He shoved Rick away from him, darting around Michonne and out the office door. A couple more steps and he was outside, breaking into a jog when he hit the pavement, because he didn’t know if Rick was following him. He doubted it as he dashed to the front gate where Nicholas was being helped in by Glenn and Noah. He dodged around them, sleeping through the large metal barrier before it had time to close. 

As soon as he was out, he hit a dead run, barreling straight into the forest. He had no idea where he was going or what he was doing. He didn’t have his crossbow, didn’t have a gun. All he had was the hunting knife at his belt, bute just kept running, trees whipping by. He almost fell half a dozen times, tripping over holes in the ground and branches. Almost ran into a walker but he kept going. Just going. Away. _Out_. 

He didn’t stop until his head began to spin and his lungs felt like they might burst from the pressure. He came up short, collapsing against the trunk of a tree, fingers digging into the bark to keep himself upright as the rasping sound of his own breathing filled the quiet forest. His lungs felt impossibly tight as he hiccuped and choked, finally sinking down to his knees. 

A tree branch snapped somewhere nearby and he forced himself to his feet, stumbling forward in an uneven gate. He wasn’t sure what he was a running from. His rational brain told him it was a walker. His irrational mind told him it was Rick and perhaps that was worse, so he kept moving, despite the burning in his throat and the pounding in his chest. Out, out, out. 

He couldn’t go back. He couldn’t go back for his crossbow or anything. He wasn’t supposed to be there. Everything he’d ever done up until this point no longer mattered. He didn’t matter. Within those walls, he was nothing. Redneck trash. That’s what Merle had called him. That’s what he was. That was all he’d ever been. Maybe he’d been useful, out on the road, but now they didn’t need him. 

His ankle rolled and he went crashing to the ground, wincing as his ribs connected with the jagged edge of a fallen tree branch. He shoved himself back up, limping a few steps before his ankle felt strong enough to run once again. He just needed to go away. He needed to go away before he changed his mind and went back. He couldn’t go back. He couldn’t bear to see that look in Rick’s eyes, like he’d disappointed him. He’d only been trying to help with the snares. He thought if he could contribute, he would have some sort of job, just like everyone else. 

It was stupid, now that he thought about it. Rick didn’t need his help anymore. He shouldn’t have tried so hard. This was better. They would look for him, for a little, and then they’d figure he was dead. They wouldn’t have to deal with Deanna kicking him out. They could say they tried their best, just like he’d said about Merle and about Sophia and about Beth. 

His foot caught a tree root and he tumbled forward for the second time as pain exploded in his temple as his head connected with a half-exposed rock. The world swirled and he raised his hand to his forehead as he felt warm blood trickle down his skin. “Shit,” he breathed, trying to get his legs underneath him as the ground tilted back and forth. He finally managed to get upright, leaning against a tree. 

His vision was foggy as he stared around, blurring on the edges as spots burst like white light. He tried to shake his head and it only made things worse, blending the images together. Somewhere to his right, leaves shifted on the ground. Twigs snapped. “Shit.” A walker. Too close for comfort, by the sound of it. Well, at least they wouldn’t keep looking if they found his body. He fumbled with the knife at his side, tugging it from its sheath and holding it loosely in his hand. Keep going. 

He took one or two steps forward, using his free hand to steady himself on the tree. Another step. Another. Two more. Then the shuffling sound was right behind him and he whirled, throwing himself off balance, as he toppled straight into his attacker. The knife was knocked from his hands and he felt fingers clamp down on his biceps as the distorted figure made some indistinguishable noise and then the world faded into blackness. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should be noted that I know absolutely nothing about hunting snares and if it would be possible for Daryl to make one that would impede a human all that much, but it needed to work for the story. Someone who is more knowledgable than me, please correct me if I'm wrong. 
> 
> Chapter Three is in the works and I may or may not post it tonight, although it is 1 am so it'll probably happen tomorrow.
> 
> As always, comments are loved!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so, so much for all your comments! It seriously makes my day to hear that people are enjoying the fic! I'm definitely going to try to stay on top of updating for you all and hope you'll keep on reading! c:
> 
> This chapter is a bit longer than the first two and I probably really need to reread it in the morning for editing reasons, but the plot thickens~ or something like that.

The room reeked of an acrid scent, burning Daryl’s nostrils as he attempted to crack open his eyes. He couldn’t quite place the sterile smell that overpowered all his other senses but there was a strange familiarity to it, although the deja vu didn’t offer any comfort. If anything, the bright lights glaring down at him made his stomach clench with unbridled panic as he attempted to sit up despite the movement sparking an explosion of pain in his head. 

Someone placed a hand on his wrist and his fearful eyes flew to the blurry figure hovering over him. 

“…the hell?” he croaked, unable to distinguish the person’s identity as he jerked his arm away, shoving himself up onto his elbows. The room was slowly coming in to focus as he attempted to shift the blanket laid across his legs so he could get the hell out of this damn bed. 

“Just relax,” the blurry face said in an unknown voice and Daryl bristled, struggling away all the more frantically. His head throbbed in protest but he managed to get halfway out of bed before there was another figure next to him, pushing him gently back down. This one he did recognize, even as her visage drifted in and out of focus.

“Michonne-” he protested, shoving her hands away. “Get the hell off me.” The woman obliged, but didn’t move away from the bed. He followed her line of sight to the stranger in the room who was holding what looked like a small flashlight and was dressed in clean, white collared shirt. 

“Daryl?” He narrowed his eyes at the man before glancing around the room. It looked like a bedroom had been converted into some sort of first aid station. A shelf piled high with various medical supplies stood against the far wall. His bed lined the other wall and various backpacks sat on the ground near the shelf, no doubt containing more supplies. He placed the unpleasant smell when his eyes fell on a bottle— rubbing alcohol. “Daryl?” 

“What?” he growled, gaze returning to the doctor. He saw the man’s jaw clench almost imperceptibly, saw his fingers tighten on the flashlight, and his stomach did a somersault. 

“My name is Peter, but call me Pete,” the man said, taking another step forward and offering a smile which somehow made Daryl feel even less at ease as his fingers twisted in the blanket across his lap. “Do you know where you are?” 

Daryl’s gaze flickered to Michonne and then back to Peter before he shrugged his shoulders. “Alexandria.” 

The man moved around the bed until he was standing right in front of Daryl and his grip on the blanket tightened. He reminded himself that this man wouldn’t dare do a thing to him with Michonne in the room, but the irrational part of his mind has his heart pounding in his chest. 

“Good. Do you know what happened?” Peter asked as he flicked the flashlight on, checking it against the back of his hand. Daryl’s gaze followed the pinprick of light, drifting over the man’s discolored knuckles. Bruises. He kept his gaze downcast, glancing to the hand holding the flashlight. No bruises, but there were three faint scratches running down the inside of his forearm, just at his wrist. “Daryl?”

He jerked his eyes back to Peter’s face as the man watched him, predatory and cold. A frown curved across Daryl’s lips and he raised his hand to the throbbing point of pain in his temple, fingers brushing over the soft fabric of bandages. “Hit my head,” he grumbled in reply, dropping his hand. 

“I found you,” Michonne offered up and Daryl loosened his grip on the blanket when the doctor’s eyes swiveled away from him. “Almost watched a walker take a chunk out of your neck. You were pretty out of it. It took me and Glenn to get you back here.” That explained why he didn’t remember the trip back.

“Well, concussions will do that to you,” the doctor replied, almost absentmindedly. The light was nearly blinding when Peter shined it suddenly in Daryl’s left eye and he jerked his head away, squeezing his eyes shut. The pounding in his head intensified to the point of nauseousness and he had the intense urge to kick Peter straight in the shins, or put an arrow between his eyes. 

“Sorry. Didn’t expect you to be so sensitive,” the doctor apologized in a tone that made Daryl think he wasn’t sorry at all. Peter’s whole demeanor was like the smell of that rubbing alcohol, familiar in a deeply unnerving way. The man lifted the flashlight again and this time Daryl squinted but didn’t turn away. “Please follow the light with your eyes.” 

After a few painful moments, Peter seemed satisfied with the results and Daryl was given a brief respite from the blinding. “Like I said before, you’ve definitely got a concussion, but there’s no reason for me to keep monitoring you,” Peter confirmed, as though Daryl actually would have considered staying under his care. “I need you to take it easy and come back to see me in a couple days.” 

Daryl found himself shaking his head as his stomach rolled. No, he didn't want to come back here, ever. He wanted to get away from this man with his steely eyes and bruised knuckles. “I’ll be fine,” he replied. “Thanks for the bandage.” He moved to duck around Peter but the man’s hand clamped down on his shoulder. Still weak on his feet, he was knocked back onto the edge of the bed, clenching his jaw as his head spun. 

“You’ll have to come back in a couple of days,” Peter repeated, although there was a harder edge to his voice this time and he wasn’t smiling when Daryl dared a glance at his face. Prick. 

“Screw you,” he hissed, shoving past the other man with all the strength he could muster. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man whirl. He saw that bruised hand raise and he couldn’t help but flinch, expecting a punch. Instead, Peter chuckled and, instead of striking Daryl, the hand ran through his short blonde hair as he looked past Daryl to Michonne.

“Make sure he’s back here in a few days?” he asked. He was smiling again, white teeth glinting in the bright lights of the room and Daryl felt lightheaded as Michonne nodded. 

“Will do,” she said, returning Peter’s smile. Daryl was starting to feel like he was in the fucking twilight zone where the world hadn’t gone to shit and pleasantries like this were still exchanged. 

He shot Peter one last glance, meeting his gaze for a moment, before he ducked from the room, followed closely by Michonne. Head still foggy, he nearly ran straight into the door on the way out, but his stomach began to settle as soon as he burst into the open air. 

The sky was dark overhead, with hints of stars peaking through darker clouds and Daryl was acutely aware of the fact that his body was protesting every movement he made. His ribs were definitely bruised from his first fall and his ankle ached every time he took a step, but he kept up a brisk pace as he made his way back to their new home, not wanting to give Michonne time to engage him in a conversation about what the hell had happened. 

“He wants to talk to you.” Her voice still caught him off guard but he kept his eyes straight ahead on the pavement, not betraying any sign of the panic that was rising in his chest again. Talking to Rick meant facing what had happened in Deanna’s office. He would have to see that disappointed look on Rick’s face again and he didn’t think he could bear that. 

“He’s worried about you,” Michonne said and that comment caught his attention, causing him to cock his head ever so slightly in her direction. Ordinarily, her words would have provided some sort of comfort, some little grain of hope that said maybe Rick did care about him in the way he cared about Rick, but it didn’t mean anything tonight. All he could focus on was Peter’s sadistic smile and his failed attempt at getting as far away from Alexandria as possible. 

Rick was waiting on the porch for him, no doubt because the others were already inside, settled down for the night. Michonne gave him a small smile before slipping inside, leaving the two of them alone. 

Daryl didn’t moved from where he’d stopped at the edge of the porch, mostly because he was feeling nauseous again. He dug in his pocket and tugged out a cigarette. Lighting it with shaking hands, he took a long drag, trying to keep from throwing up what little was in his stomach. 

Rick’s boots sounded heavy, one footstep after the other, as he descended the steps, situating himself directly in front of Daryl so he could hardly avoid making eye contact. “How’s your head?” the sheriff asked, motioning to the bandages. 

“’S fine,” he breathed around the cigarette between his lips. He wouldn’t tell Rick about the concussion. It would only give him another excuse to leave him on the sidelines and Daryl couldn’t feel more useless than he already had. “I’ve had worse.” He could see the doubt in Rick’s eyes, but hoped the matter wouldn’t be pressed. “Fucking tired though,” he added, ducking his head and stepping around Rick to climb the porch stairs. He had almost made it to the door when Rick spoke again. 

“Deanna told me about your interview,” Rick said just when Daryl had put his hand on the doorknob and thought he was home free. Reluctantly, the archer turned back around, taking another hasty drag of his cigarette to keep himself from bolting. 

“She’s worried you might not be a good fit.” 

No shit. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out, but he only nodded once, blowing smoke out through his nose. “Was just gonna go take a shower,” he mumbled, as though that little gesture would somehow repair the damage he’d done earlier. He knew it was too little too late. It always was. 

“You told her you were a mechanic?” 

That question only confirmed that Deanna hadn’t just told Rick. She’d showed him the video and he’d heard those embarrassingly honest words he’d spit out. _I wasn’t anything_. He leaned up against the door to steady himself as the world spun dizzyingly and his chest tightened, throbbing almost as badly as his head. Rick probably thought so little of him right now. 

“Carol told me to blend in,” he replied, barely getting the words out. His mouth felt dry and he could hardly breathe enough to suck down another lungful of cigarette smoke. He wasn’t exactly lying. He’d tried to make himself into something better, but it couldn’t be done. He was still nothing. He was just an ugly stain on his friends’ new lives. 

He didn’t grow up in a home like this. He grew up in filth with parents that were so booze-soaked, they didn’t know his name half the time. He knew the look of confusion and sympathy on Rick’s face because it had been etched into the features of every person who had seen his black eyes or split lip when he was a kid. If they were still what they were, Daryl was nothing more than some hillbilly’s punching bag who didn’t even try to fight back. 

The scratches on Peter’s arm. The bruises on his fists. 

Daryl had tried to fight back to the first time too. 

Daryl had scratched and clawed and cried-

“Daryl?” 

The ash of his cigarette seared his skin and he dropped the stub, snapping back to reality as he leaned heavily against the door. Rick was next to him, brow knitted in clear concern, although Daryl doubted their close proximity was doing anything to help his breathing issues. The other man moved to wrap an arm around his waist for support and Daryl jerked away as though he’d been burnt, stomach rolling unpleasantly. 

“Sorry.” 

His brain couldn’t seem to connect Rick’s apology with a reason, but he was going to blame that on the blow to the head. Instead of replying, he just nodded.

“The shower,” he forced out, fumbling with the door handle. “I should…” He trailed off and finally managed to shove the door open, nearly falling into the foyer. He could hear Rick trailing behind him as he limped his way up to the second floor. Luckily, the bathroom was unoccupied and he darted in. Turning, he slammed the door shut… only to connect with Rick’s hand when the sheriff easily forced the door back open. 

Daryl fell back a few steps, steadying himself on the cool edge of the sink as his heart beat painfully against his ribcage. Rick moved towards him and he felt his chest clench tighter in fear, anger, excitement?   

“Don’t,” he growled, with just enough force that Rick stopped in his tracks, clearly confused by the order. Daryl had a strange feeling that neither of them really knew what they were doing and it only made him more uneasy because he’d seen Rick at his best and his worst and the man had always seemed to have some sort of plan. 

After a long pause, Rick nodded and took a step back. “Okay,” he said, holding up his hands in a sign of surrender. Daryl relaxed only slightly, peering warily at Rick. 

“I’m sleeping on the couch tonight,” Rick added, crossing his arms over his chest. “We all figured you should have the bed after what happened today.” 

Daryl tried to find his voice to thank Rick or to at least acknowledge what he said but there was a lump wedged right in his throat, effectively silencing him. Rick looked like he wanted to say something else, like there was another comment right on the tip of his tongue, but he just offered Daryl a small smile. 

A hand was extended, reaching towards Daryl’s arm, no doubt to give it a reassuring pat like they always had, but Rick stopped short, grabbing a toothbrush from the counter instead and Daryl was painfully aware of how badly he wanted that touch while simultaneously feeling like he was going to fall apart if Rick’s fingers so much as brushed against his skin. He wanted that reassurance. He _needed_ it, craved it, but something about the thought of Rick touching him made him shiver. It made his stomach twist and his head spin. It had to be a bad thing. Touching had never been something he was particularly fond of.

“We’ll talk in the morning.” Rick’s words seemed very far off, even though the sheriff was standing right in front of him. He could feel himself nod as the other man turned away, closing the door behind him and leaving Daryl alone. 

Well, he guessed he had to shower now. 

The thought in itself was daunting, but even he had to admit that his resolve to ignore any and all hospitalities was immediately weakened when he held his hand under the hot, running water. If there was a heaven, it probably felt pretty similar to this. 

He still undressed slowly, sliding off his dirty clothes and nudging them to the side as he watched the water patter onto the smooth tile floor of the shower. He only looked away to unwrap the bandage from around his head, wincing as he pulled the last bit away and examined the long gash running along his forehead, now decorated with carefully stitched sutures. 

After another long moment of prodding at the rapidly bruising wound, he turned his attention back to the shower. Approaching tentatively, he stuck out his hand again, testing the temperature for the second time. Slowly, he let the water trail up and up his arm until he had no choice but the step into the spray. 

Once he was in the water, he tried to move as quickly as possible. Shampoo, soap, and that was it. He didn’t want to get used to this sort of thing. He couldn’t let his guard down but his hands still lingered, for only a second, on his back, fingers trailing over the raised scars as he felt shame settle hot and heavy in the pit of his stomach. Drawing his hands away, he shut off the water and stepped out, grabbing a towel off the rack and drying himself. 

Which was when he ran into a problem. The only clothes he had were dirty and he didn’t want to ruin Rick’s bed by tracking all the dirt he’d collected on his ripped shirt and pants into it. Gingerly, he wrapped the towel around his waist and, gathering his clothes in one hand, headed for the door. He opened it just a crack, peering out into the deserted hallway. After he was sure, the coast was clear and everyone else in the house was asleep, he swung the door open all the way. He was about to make a run for it when his foot bumped against something and he paused, glancing down at a pile of neatly folded clothes that had been left outside the bathroom door. 

After a moment of contemplation, he scooped up the bundle and proceeded to tug on the sweat pants and loose t-shirt. He peered at himself inquisitively in the mirror before snatching up his dirty clothes and retreating as swiftly as he could to the bedroom. 

He went over the room from top to bottom, examining every surface and drawer that it had to offer. Once he’d deemed the area safe— or relatively so—, he tossed his clothes in a pile on the ground and all but collapsed onto the bed, burying himself as far under the blanket as he possibly could. He’d definitely forgotten what a real bed felt like and this was a nice one, nicer than any bed he’d slept in before. Man, he would have killed for a bed like this back in the day. 

He pressed his face into the pillow, noting that, even through the strong aroma of shampoo, he could still smell a musky scent that was distinctly Rick. Had he been less exhausted, he would have liked to savor this moment a little more— maybe imagine Rick was there with him— but he barely had time to enjoy the half-formed, delirious thought before he drifted off to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. I had a lot of fun writing this one (which is probably why it got so long). Sorry for the ridiculously descriptive ending but Daryl taking a shower was a really big deal in my head and honestly, I probably over-describe 99.9% of all things. 
> 
> Sorry that this fic has been nonstop angst from the get-go but I promise some fluff has already been planned for the next chapter!
> 
> Again, comments are always loved and appreciated! I'd love to know what you guys think of Peter and Daryl's reaction to him. It's just something that popped into my head today! Any and all feedback is great!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's following this story and for all your lovely feedback! It's been really great to see people enjoying this! And now, sorry for taking so long to update guys! I wanted to get something out after the episode this week and unfortunately school things got in the way. But, without further ado, here is the next chapter! It's pretty long so that makes up for the wait, right? Also, there is more Daryl/Rick time and Daryl/Aaron because they are like my brOTP now. Enjoy!

Rick’s body radiated heat, as though his skin was burning up. Daryl could feel it, even through the blanket he had tightly wrapped around him. He had yet to meet the sheriff’s eye but with him sitting only inches away, he was intimately aware of his presence, preoccupied with the way the bed moved whenever Rick shifted. A hand reached out, fingers curling in the blanket, slowly tugging it down and down until Daryl could no longer clutch at it for a sense of security. After a long bout of contemplation, he slowly rolled onto his back, staring up at Rick with a furrowed brow. 

Rick’s face wasn’t expressionless but Daryl certainly couldn’t decipher what emotions were written in his searching eyes and set jaw. Some strange sort of determination was Daryl’s best guess, but every rational thought flew from his mind when Rick reached out and trailed his fingers down Daryl’s bicep, sending a shiver through his body and raising goosebumps wherever they touched. He sucked in a sharp breath, air catching in his throat as he momentarily reminded himself how to breathe.

He opened his mouth to try and say something but any words were silenced when a second hand joined the first in exploring his exposed skin, fingers trailing up his opposite arm to his shoulder. Rick was close now, hovering over him almost expectantly, as though Daryl should know what to do in this situation but the archer was frozen in place, chest rising and falling in an unsteady rhythm as he tried to control his frantic breathing. 

Rick’s fingers brushed over the curve of his hip, exposed between the waistband of his sweatpants and t-shirt, and it felt as though the man had electrocuted him, heat jolting straight through his body from the light point of contact. Instinctively, he shifted, tipping his hips forward to get more of that touch, more of Rick. 

Rick, who was so close that the smell of shampoo and shaving cream was overwhelming. Rick, whose fingers were tightening on his hip, causing his body to erupt into another shudder. Rick, whose eyes were so blue Daryl felt like he was drowning in them. His whole world began with Rick’s breath, hot on his cheek, and ended with the solid grip on his hip. Rick leaned forward and, if Daryl shifted, their lips would brush together. If he just…

Knuckles rapped loudly on the door and Daryl jolted awake, fumbling with the sheets that were tangled around him. Sun spilled in the bedroom window and he cursed softly, trying with renewed vigor to extricate himself from the bed. What the hell time was it? Had he really slept this late? Normally he was up with the sun. Another knock sounded against the door and he was halfway to his bow when he realized an intruder wouldn’t be knocking. 

“Gimme a sec,” he called, voice still thick with sleep as he managed to toss the blankets aside, only to deeply regret the decision when he saw the rather inconvenient reaction his body had had to his dream. Another string of curse words fell from his lips and he tugged the blanket over his lap just as the door cracked open. 

“If you’re sleeping naked, I’m really sorry.” Maggie’s voice lilted through the air and, by some miracle, he managed a snort of a laugh, propping himself up on his elbows and that was when the headache hit him like a ton of bricks. 

He winced, easing himself back down onto the pillow as Maggie pushed the door the rest of the way open. He raised one hand, fingers trailing over the row of stitches in his forehead. Right. The concussion. 

Maggie appeared in his field of vision and he tried to duck her scrutinizing gaze, but his head throbbed and he laid still. The woman held up a bandage and a wad of gauze. “Rick is not going to be happy you bled on his pillow,” she joked. “Do you mind if I fix you up?” 

He gingerly sat up, laying one arm strategically over his lap, just in case the blanket was doing a poor job of hiding the fact that he’d just had a dirty— was it dirty if they didn’t do anything?— dream about Rick Grimes, not that Maggie would know what was going on inside of his head. 

“Sure,” he said, glancing back at the pillow and the rust colored stain no doubt left by the stitched wound. He really hoped Rick wasn’t going to be pissed about that, not after he’d so generously offered Daryl the bed. 

Maggie sat down on the edge of the bed and motioned for him to scoot closer, which he did rather reluctantly. At least she hadn’t seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary, that was until she moved to brush some of his long hair out of the way. Pausing, she pressed the back of her hand lightly to the uninjured part of Daryl’s forehead. “Are you alright? You feel a bit feverish,” she commented, a flicker of concern crossing her face. 

Daryl couldn’t help the flush that lit up his cheeks, entirely against his will. “No. I’m just…” He tried to look anywhere but Maggie’s face. “The blanket… Guess it was too hot…” he mumbled, motioning to the blanket still on his legs. “Just not used to it…” 

Maggie scrutinized him for a moment longer and he was sure she didn’t believe him, but she at least had the decency to let it go, picking up a piece of gauze and placing it over the stitches in his head. “Here. Hold that there while I bandage you up,” she instructed and he raised two fingers to hold the dressing in place. 

She made quick work of the wound, making smalltalk as she did so. “Michonne told me you didn’t seem to like the doctor here, so I figured the least I could do was volunteer to change your bandages, although it’s not exactly rocket science,” she rambled, chuckling softly to herself. “I don’t blame you for not liking him. We got lucky with Daddy. Sometimes doctors just aren’t personable at all, like my pediatrician when I was younger. He was one of my Dad’s close friends but I was terrified of him, probably because he’d given me a shot…” 

Daryl let her voice fade into the background, focusing his eyes on his lap and willing himself not to think about anything related to his dream so he could get up when this was done without a tent pitched in his pants, but little echoes of the dream kept whispering back to him. The way Rick smelled. The rough pads of his fingers against the swell of his hip. 

“That’ll do it.” Maggie’s words snapped him back to reality and he swallowed hard, throat feeling inexplicably dry as the woman sat back to admire her handiwork. “Just don’t go running off again, alright? We need you here.” 

This time, he did manage a sincere smile, nodding slowly so as not to exacerbate his injury. “Thanks,” he replied. 

She brushed off the thanks with a wave as she bent down to grab his dirty clothes from the ground. “Carol said she’d wash these and get them right back to you. There’s clothes in there,” she said, motioning to the closet in the far wall as she paused at the door. “Oh and you have a visitor. He told me he doesn’t mind waiting for you but I think he might be getting a little anxious.” She ducked out before he could ask who the hell wanted to see him, leaving him to frown angrily down at the blanket in his lap. 

A visitor? After his interview with Deanna yesterday, a visitor was the last thing he wanted. At least it’d killed the mood and, after a couple of minutes, he managed to get out of bed. His eyes wandered to the closet and he padded over, rummaging through it for several minutes before finding a black flannel and a pair of jeans that were just a little too big for him. He fashioned a belt out of an old shoelace before returning to the bed to straighten the sheets, leaving it as he found it, minus the stain on the pillow, which he flipped over in a hopeless attempt to hide it. 

By the time he got downstairs, there were only a few stragglers left from their communal breakfast. Michonne smiled at him from the kitchen where Rick was holding a sleepy Judith in his arms while Abraham was finishing off the last of his plate from the living room sofa. The sergeant gave him a wave before pointing to the kitchen table where that damn recruiter sat, his face lighting up when his gaze fell on Daryl at the foot of the stairs. Daryl wasn’t exactly thrilled to see Aaron, but at least it wasn’t that Aiden prick or his mother. 

He moved to greet the man but, before he could reach the table, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and he turned to see Rick, knees going slightly weak when the man smiled at him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually smiled like that.

“How’s the head?” the sheriff asked, hand still resting lightly on Daryl’s shoulder and making Daryl’s mind cloudy with images from his dream. 

“Sore,” he admitted before he could stop himself. He didn’t want Rick to worry about him. He would heal. “Not too bad.” 

The sheriff didn’t seem too concerned with his answer though. He just chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, knocking yourself out will do that,” he replied and it was Daryl’s turn to huff a laugh. The archer was grateful that they were both going to pretend nothing had happened the day before, at least for now. 

“I’ll just be outside with Judith,” Rick nodded towards the porch and dropped his hand from Daryl’s shoulder, only to lightly pat his side, fingers sliding across the soft fabric of his shirt and making Daryl dizzy with want. They'd done the same thing a dozen times before but now it felt like every nerve he had was rubbed raw. Then the moment was over and the front door opened and closed before Daryl realized he hadn’t moved and Michonne was looking at him with amusement written plainly on her face. 

She approached, holding out a slide of bread to him. “One of the neighbors made it. It’s got… raisins or something,” she said as he took the offered piece. “You can savor that as well.” Before he could brush off the friendly jab, she was gone as well, leaving him to turn back to his “visitor” with his stomach still doing somersaults. 

He moved forward, slipping into the seat across from Aaron as he watched the man, eyes narrowed. He could see Rick out of the corner of his eye, waiting on the porch. Daryl knew he was watching them subtly and it made him feel more at ease, enough that he took a tentative bite of the bread in his hand. 

“It’s good, right?” The recruiter piped up and Daryl shrugged one shoulder. But yeah, it was damn good bread. “Cheryl makes the best baked goods. I don’t know how she does it when we don’t have half the real ingredients, but somehow she makes it work.” 

“That what you want?” he asked, taking another bite of the bread as he watched Aaron try to decipher his words. “To talk abut bread?” He waved the piece in the air before biting in to it again. 

“No, of course not,” Aaron replied, still keeping that good-natured smile on his face that made Daryl wonder if it was possible to piss him off at all. “First, I wanted to see how you were doing. Deanna told me about your accident and, to be honest, I was a little upset.” 

Daryl raised his eyebrows at the other man before glancing away. “Join the club,” he replied, finishing off the last bite of the bread and chewing it noisily. Aaron’s smile faltered and he counted that as a win. 

“I mean, not _upset_ so much as disappointed. I was supposed to meet with you after you saw Deanna.” When that comment didn’t get a reaction out of Daryl, he continued. “See, I wanted to give you a job with me. I wanted you to be a recruiter,” the man explained, his sheepish smile returning to his face. 

That got a confused stare out of the archer and he frowned, shaking his head. “You want me? No. I ain’t gonna be your poster boy for this place,” he replied. Of all the jobs, this one seemed the most ill-fitted for him. He wasn’t personable and he definitely wasn’t what someone would call a “selling point” for the camp.

Aaron chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. “No. Not a… “poster boy”. A recruiter. Someone to help me choose who to bring back,” he insisted. “Rick told me that you’ve got the best instincts out of the group and I could use someone who knows what they’re doing out there. I can’t keep risking Eric’s life.” 

Daryl opened his mouth to protest, to flat out refuse, but Aaron quickly cut him off. 

“Look, don’t make the decision yet. Just… think about it, at least. There’s a party tonight at Deanna’s house to welcome you all. Tell me then.” 

After a long moment, Daryl nodded, glancing out the window to Rick, leaning up against the railing of the porch. Rick would be happy if he got a job, if he stayed and he craved a purpose, something to keep him going within these walls. He wanted to make this work, for him. 

“You should tell him.” Aaron’s voice snapped him from his thoughts and he glanced back at him, unable to hide the confusion on his face. “That you’re afraid you’re losing him to… all this.” 

Daryl shoved himself back from the table, rising to his feet with a shake of his head. “You don’t know shit,” he replied, panic rising in his chest because, if Aaron could decipher that from one look, what else had he been giving away?

“Daryl, wait! I’m sorry,” the other man exclaimed. “It’s not my place, I know, but… I used to look at Eric like that, when this all started. There’s nothing wrong-”

Daryl whirled on his heel, ignoring the throbbing in his head as he stormed into the kitchen, grabbing another slice of bread from the counter. He could hear footsteps behind him but he ignored them. 

“Daryl!” Aaron nearly ran straight in to him and he let out a growl of frustration. The man didn’t try to block his way as he shoved by, but he didn’t stop talking. “You should tell him. When me and Eric didn’t talk, it was like fighting a whole other battle on top of the one for survival. Stuff like this… it only makes all the things out there worse. Just talk to him.” 

Daryl paused, turning back to the other man and he saw Aaron flinch, just slightly, but he wasn’t intending on fighting the other man. Instead, he shook his head. “Man, what do you think this is?” he asked, wanting to know exactly why the hell Aaron thought he could say all of this. 

“Well, you’re in love with him, aren’t you?” 

Daryl was thankful that Aaron lowered his voice to a near whisper to relay that deduction but the words still froze him where he stood because he hadn’t even dared to let himself think that and now here it was, floating in the air between them like some fucked up revelation. 

As the silence dragged on, Aaron seemed to realize his blunder and muttered something that sounded like an apology and a “I’ll see you tonight” before ducking past him, leaving Daryl to try and sort through the idea that maybe sorta somewhere along the way, he’d fallen in love with Rick Grimes. 

 

He really hadn’t wanted to go to that party. He'd talked himself out of it a thousand different ways and yet, here he was, standing in what was supposed to be the backyard, staring warily in through a window. He was too far away to see much, just groups of people mingling together with solo cups in their hands, but he could pick out Rick clear as day. He could see him raise a glass of amber liquid to his lips and Daryl had to wonder what made him let his guard down so much. 

He tore his attention away from his friend, focusing instead on finding the one person who had managed to convince him to come out to the party in the first place. Aaron. Except, the man was nowhere in sight and Daryl wasn’t quite ready to walk into a room full of the apocalyptic equivalent of soccer moms.  

He’d given Aaron’s offer quite a bit of thought. In fact, it’d really been the only thing on his mind since the morning. Due to the concussion, he’d been confined to the house and somehow there always seemed to be someone around, stopping him when he tried to leave, he’d spent the majority of the day stalking the home until he was sure he’d memorized every single stain on the painted walls. 

And he’d thought about what Aaron had said. He’d get to be outside. That was definitely one of the benefits of going along with the job. Rick would be happy— another solid benefit. When he really sat down and thought about it, there were no downsides, no real reasons that he could give for not accepting, other than being afraid. Somewhere, deep down, he was still afraid. He wasn’t afraid of one particular thing, just afraid in general. Afraid of not fitting in, afraid that this would be good for the group, afraid that this wouldn’t last, afraid that he would lose them. Just afraid. 

But he sure as hell had never been a coward and he wasn't about to start now so he’d thrown on his newly washed vest over his shirt and had every intention of going into that party but, old habits die hard and here he was on the outside, looking in. Although it was probably a good thing he hadn’t stepped inside, since Aaron was nowhere to be seen and he wasn’t exactly a social butterfly. 

His eyes drifted back to Rick and he tensed, gaze falling on the sheriff’s companion. Peter. Some protective urge surged within him, commanding him to rush in there, but he resisted, drawing in a slow breath. He was overreacting. Concussions made people irrational and that room was filled with people who could protect Rick. Maybe not as well as he could, but they were there nonetheless. 

He watched the scene for a moment longer, lingering on Rick’s face. He watched the man smile, watched him take another sip from his glass. After a minute, he tore himself away, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he made his way back towards their house. 

After retrieving his bow from the house, he took his seat on the porch, leaning up against the railing as he let his mind wander. He was dozing off when the partygoers returned and his eyes instantly snapped open. Abraham and Rosita were the first to appear, fairly drunk by the looks of it. Noah was next with Maggie and Glenn right behind him, although they seemed fairly distracted by each other. Carol and Carl appeared a few minutes later, after the others had settled in the living room, and they were followed closely by Rick, Michonne, and Judith. None of the others seemed particularly intoxicated, although Carol seemed to be smiling more than usual. Then again, he could never tell with her whole “Stepford Wives” act. They climbed the steps and he nodded to them, slowly rising to his feet to follow them in but Rick stopped him, handing Judith off to Carl. 

“Gimme a sec, Daryl?” he asked and of course, Daryl nodded. Aaron’s words came echoing back to him but he ignored them as he leaned up against the railing. 

“How was the party?” He earned himself a disgruntled look for that comment but he feigned innocence, although he knew full well Rick probably hadn’t enjoyed mingling with that crowd. 

“They had drinks,” came the reply as the sheriff stepped forward to stand next to him. 

As he got closer, Daryl could smell the alcohol in question. The scent was barely there, but it was one he was intimately familiar with so it carried easily. “You drunk?” he asked, more out of curiosity than anything else, but the other man shook his head. 

“No, just tired.” Rick ran a hand over his face with a soft sigh. “I forgot what it’s like to make small talk.” A hint of a smile ghosted over his face, as though something about small talk was amusing. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Daryl replied, shrugging one shoulder. That hadn’t been a necessary skill in his former life. 

A silence fell between them and, again, he could hear Aaron’s words in his head, urging him to talk to Rick. He’d never been a fan of spilling his guts, but maybe the guy had a point. He opened his mouth to speak but, surprisingly, Rick beat him to it. 

“You’re a fucking idiot.” 

The words weren’t angry. In fact, the sheriff seemed almost matter-of-fact in his inflection, causing Daryl to stare at him, brow knitted in confusion.  

“Why the hell would you run off like that?” Rick asked and now there was some anger in his tone, causing Daryl to withdraw, dropping his eyes to the ground. “I couldn’t find you! Do you know how dangerous it was to go out there? Do you know what I thought had happened?” 

Daryl knew he’d been an idiot for leaving, but he hadn’t known what else to do. It’d been a natural reaction to run and self-control wasn’t exactly his forte. He shook his head, ignoring his headache. “‘M sorry,” he mumbled, voice low and quiet as he kept his eyes downcast. “I didn’t think…” He trailed off but Rick didn’t let the conversation die.

“You didn’t what? Think that anyone would come after you? Was it just some fucking test? You put all our lives in danger for a test of loyalty?” the sheriff snapped. He was keeping his voice down, most likely so the others wouldn’t hear, but Daryl could tell from the tension in his words that he wanted to be yelling. 

He shook his head head more rapidly. “No!” he hissed, grip tightening on his bow. “You don’t _get_ it! I didn’t know what else to do!” He wanted to say more and wanted to keep his mouth shut all at once. He knew the answer he’d given wasn’t an acceptable reason and he doubted Rick would take it as one but, when the other man spoke, his words were soft. 

“Look at me.” 

He didn’t lift his gaze, but he tilted his chin upwards just a bit, hoping to appease Rick without actually doing what he wanted. 

“Daryl.” Rick’s voice was exasperated now and he slowly, slowly dared to meet the man’s gaze. Then that hand was back on his shoulder and heat rushed through him. He could feel it, lightly tinting his cheeks as his breath hitched in his throat.

“How many times do I have to tell you? You’re part of this family,” the sheriff insisted and Daryl would honestly agree to anything as long as Rick kept looking at him like this with that heartbreakingly earnest expression on his face. 

He couldn’t find the words that he wanted. What was he supposed to say? That he didn’t want them to sacrifice their happiness for him? That if he had to leave, he would want them to stay, no matter how badly that hurt? 

Instead, he opened his mouth and blurted out, “I got a job.” And it seemed like an incredibly juvenile thing to say, not to mention it wasn’t entirely true since he had yet to talk to Aaron, but he felt better just saying it. 

He could see some of the tension leave Rick’s body, watched as the corners of his lips turned up in a soft smile. “With Aaron?” he asked.

Daryl nodded in confirmation. “Yup. Asked me to be a recruiter,” he said. “I didn’t say yes yet but I figured…” He trailed off and shrugged his shoulders, turning so he could stand with his hands resting on the porch railing as he stared out on the empty street. 

“Good,” Rick replied and Daryl was sure that one word conveyed everything that needed to be said between them, at least as far as he was concerned. At least, regarding this conversation. Alright, so it barely scratched the surface but he didn’t have time to think about it because Rick turned, mimicking his posture, but, when he laid his hands on the railing, he let his fingers splay out over the back of Daryl’s hand. 

At first, Daryl thought it was a mistake and that Rick would pull away as soon as it happened but, instead, the hand just stayed there, heavy and warm over his own. His breath caught in his throat as his heart hammered a staccato in his chest. 

Rick shifted and Daryl almost jerked his hand away, an apology ripe on his tongue, but instead the sheriff just stared out onto the street and said, “I think we can make this work,” while running his fingers along Daryl’s knuckles. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aren't we all super excited for Daryl and Rick actually having a conversation?!?!?! I know I am! Every time I post a chapter, I pray I'm getting the characterization right and this one was no different, but I think I'm happy with the way this turned out, although I am posting this at an ungodly hour so I might just be delirious... 
> 
> And remember when I said this was going to be five chapters...? I totally lied to myself. This will be an... undetermined amount of chapters, since I have about a thousand ideas I'm working with. But I can guarantee it'll be an adventure! 
> 
> As always, comments and feedback are loved! It makes my day to hear your thoughts on the story!


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